They say you should never read any of your early writing, as it will surely undermine your confidence. But strange things have been happening lately.
Ever since my collapse earlier this year, I have been pretending about a lot of things.
Pretending to be okay with my situation, smiling through the pain and the frustration of being almost helpless. Deep down, I knew I was pretending, but it seemed to be the only game in town, so I was more than happy to be living a lie. Better than not, anyway.
Depression has never been far away. It almost became my friend until I realised what was happening. Pretending I wasn’t depressed was something I could do, even in that hospital bed.
Years of pretending have made me pretty good at it.
Was I or wasn’t I?
Lately though, I think my old, sensible, warts and all self has been trying to get my attention. Some of my old ways of thinking (prior to the collapse) have turned up and are very welcome. I am seeing everything in a new light, including my writing, past and present, revealing that I have a lot of work to do.
It will be hard to pick up where I left off, and hard to choose just one thing at a time, but my purpose is back and that’s all that counts…
I have been reading a lot about living deliberately. A new post is forming already…
will the real me please stand up?
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